Chapter Four
Strings Attached
I told myself I was imagining it.
Damian's gaze was intense. The significance of his words.
"You will be."
It echoed in my mind long after I had returned home. That night, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shakily peeling off Clara's silk dress, attempting to maintain the professional distance I had promised myself.
But his voice, low, rich, and deliberate, clung to me like his cologne. Subtle. Dangerous. Unforgettable.
The following morning, I arrived early again. Thirty minutes early, to be precise. I needed that mental space. Needed to concentrate.
Miranda had not arrived yet, but a thick stack of files sat on my desk, alongside a note in Damian's handwriting:
We need this reviewed, redacted, and coded before 9 a.m. Use clearance level two.
Do not involve anyone else.
There was an unmarked red folder among them, and when I opened it, I discovered strange documents in French, some stamped with the TitanLux insignia and others bearing a seal I did not recognize.
I scan the files quickly. Weapon licenses. International bank transfers. Courier logs.
Something was not right.
Why would a luxury company track cargo shipments through Marseille, labeled as "personal medical inventory" under three different names?
And why did Damian trust me with this?
At exactly 8:55 a.m., I entered his office.
He did not look up from his laptop.
"I locked the redactions with Level 2 encryption," I explained. "There are no digital leaks possible. And I flagged the Marseille shipments. They are not consistent with your other routing patterns.
That caused him to pause.
He only looked at me for a second, but I felt it in my bones. A brief moment of surprise... Or was it approval?
"You have flagged them."
"Yes. NavisVox, the routing company, is not licensed for Class B medical imports. Someone forged it or—"
"I know who forged it," he interrupted, his voice clipped.
I blinked. "Do you know?"
He closed the laptop with a quiet click.
"There are things in this business, Blake, that go beyond regulation. I hired you because I needed someone sharp. Discreet. Loyal."
"And disposable?" I asked before I could control myself.
His eyes narrowed.
"No," he replied slowly. "I do not waste people who are useful. And I protect what I own."
That word is again mine.
My pulse quickened.
"You cannot keep saying that," I said quietly. "I am not some asset."
"Do not act like one," he murmured.
By lunchtime, I had two dozen emails, five calls from Damian's private line, and an impromptu drive to the Upper East Side to deliver a document to Clarisse Duro, Cassian's sister.
She was gorgeous. Blonde. Cold.
She opened the envelope, glanced through it, and smiled. "So he now trusts you."
"Excuse me?"
"Damian. He does not delegate easily. "Especially not things like this."
I frowned. "I am just doing my job."
"No," she replied. "You are standing in a place where others gave their lives."
Then she closed the door in my face.
Later that night, I remained behind to complete a backlog of security reports. The office was dark, and the city shone like a field of distant stars.
Then I heard an elevator.
It was almost midnight.
Damian stepped out, dressed in all black, no coat, no pretense. Only stormy intensity and silence.
"I did not expect you here," he said.
"I did not want to leave the reports incomplete."
He approached me slowly.
"You are different, Blake."
"I am just trying to survive you," I said, unable to stop myself.
That made him actually smile. Small. Dangerous. Real.
"You might do more than survive me," he added. "You might be the first person who sees beyond who I am."
"So, what are you?" I whispered.
He leaned in. His breath was so close, I could feel it on my cheek.
"A man with too many secrets," he remarked. "There is too much to lose."
He brushed a strand of hair away from my face. His fingers lingered for a little too long.
"Go home, Naomi."
"I can't," I replied.
His brow rose. Why not?
"I believe that if I walk away right now... I will not be able to stop myself from returning.